Guernica: A Novel

By Dave Boling

In 1935, Miguel Navarro finds himself on the wrong side of the Spanish Nationalists, so he flees to Guernica, the most ancient town of the Basque region. In the midst of this idyllic, isolated bastion of democratic values, Miguel finds more than a new life-he finds a love that not even war, tragedy or death can destroy.
The bombing of Guernica was a devastating experiment in total warfare by the German Luftwaffe in the run-up to World War II . For the Basques, it was an attack on the soul of their ancient nation. History and fiction merge seamlessly in this beautiful novel about the resilience of family, love, and tradition in the face of hardship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
• Release date: Jul 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781608192526

Dave Boling

Dave Boling is the author of Guernica, a top ten bestseller and winner of the Richard & Judy Summer Read 2009 and other international awards. A Chicago native, Dave Boling is a journalist in the Seattle area.

Book preview

GUERNICA

GUERNICA

A NOVEL

DAVE BOLING

For the victims of Guernica . . .

and all the Guernicas that followed

Guernica is the happiest town in the world . . . governed by an assembly of countrymen who meet under an oak tree and always reach the fairest decisions.

—Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Guernica was . . . an experimental horror.

—Winston Churchill, The Gathering Storm

The painting which I am presently working on will be called Guernica. By means of it, I express my abhorrence of the race that has sunk Spain in an ocean of pain and death.

—Pablo Picasso

Pronunciation Guide

Guernica: gare-KNEE-ka

Justo Ansotegui: WHO-stow an-SOT-a-ghee

Mariangeles: mah-di-an-HEY-less

Miren: MEER-en

Josepe: HO-sep-ee

Xabier: ZHAB-yer

Alaia: a-LAY-a

Aguirre: uh-GEAR-ee

Saint-Jean-de-Luz: saint ZHON da LOSE

Lekeitio: la-KAY-tee-o

Lauaxeta: low-wa-SET-a

Bilbao: bil-BOW (rhymes with how)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

PART 2

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

PART 3

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

PART 4

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

PART 5

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

PART 6

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

READING GROUP GUIDE

PROLOGUE

(Guernica, 1939)

Justo Ansotegui returns to the market now to hear the language and to buy soap. He places bars in scattered dishes where he can catch their scent during the day, although they fail to mask the odors of the livestock that have lived in his house for generations. As he sits in the evening, he’ll idly lift a bar to his nose. He strokes his mustache with one so the scent will linger in the coarse black hairs that droop past his upper lip and conceal his expressions. The many times when he awakens in the night, he touches a soap bar at his bedside and then smells his fingers, hoping the fragrance will invite certain memories into his dreams.

Alaia Aldecoa, the village soap maker, explains that the bars are blended with sheep milk and scented with an ingredient she keeps secret, but Justo is not interested in how they are made, only how they make him feel.

"Kaixo, Alaia, it’s Justo," he says, approaching her booth on market day.

She accepts his unnecessary introduction. She has known him for years, and besides, his scent has preceded him. From the pocket of his suspendered wool pants, now drooping at the waist, he extracts a slippery coin. It carries a pleasant smell, as it’s coated with residue from a soap bar he keeps in there, too.

I would like a bar of the Miren blend, he says.

The soap maker pinches a smile at the sound of the name Miren, and, as she does every week, Alaia has two bars set aside in a separate wrap for Justo. She sells that blend to no one else. As always, she rejects his payment, and he places the coin back in his pocket. She devotes time each week to trying to imagine something she might say that would brighten his day, but once again she has nothing but soap to give him.

It’s Monday afternoon, the traditional shopping day, but the new market isn’t crowded. Business resumed reluctantly in the past three years, and the market is now several blocks east of the old site, closer to the river. It’s smaller because traffic is scant and money scarce, and so many people are gone. Since much of the trade is restricted by government control and rationing, market day is now about things other than just buying and selling.

As he moves from Alaia’s booth on the edge of the marketplace, Justo listens to the clacking of the gathered amumak, like a clutch of hens, trading their only abundant currency: gossip. In earlier times the grandmothers would negotiate the purchase of beef tongue and lamb shoulders, and the mild green peppers they would dust with garlic and fry in olive oil. And they would sniff at the colorful garlands of chorizo sausages hanging from the butcher’s booth. The spicy links would be browned in an iron skillet along with eggs, which absorbed their rusty juices and pungent taste. Scent tentacles from the stove could lure a family to the table without conscious assent. The flavor would cause the little ones to gather at Amuma’s lap and exhale into her face the garlicky breath of joy.

There’s no haste for them at the market now; there is so little to choose from. So they painstakingly examine every vegetable and heft each precious egg.

These are too small, one says, triggering a flurry of critiques from the others.

These vegetables are not fresh.

I would never serve this to my family.

Are we buying today, ladies, or just fondling? the vendor asks.

They scoff in unison but are reluctant to replace the produce. It’s easier to deem the food unacceptable than admit they cannot afford it. Even in good times the elderly women were particular about such matters, since cooking defined them. More than the collection, inflation, and distribution of gossip, their mission is to feed. Aging may change many things, but it can’t diminish their skills in the kitchen. And to improve as a cook is a way to annex emotional territory within a family. But with so little food now there is no medium for their art. And the hunger that once chewed at them like a mean dog now seems more like an annoying house-guest who simply refuses to leave.

Justo passes their gathering. They gesture and pause, then resume chattering and bobbing, energized by a new topic. They will peck at the particulars of Justo’s life until another subject causes them to blink and move on. Communication is an illusion anyway, since all speak at once.

The bells of Santa María toll the hour, and many turn their heads to look up into the cloudless sky.

Under the blue-striped canvas awnings of the taberna, older men play mus, a four-man insult contest waged around a deck of cards.

Come, play, Justo, I will need a new partner once this one smothers under the mountain of shit he’s been using for brains, an old friend calls, sparking rebukes from the other players. Successively all four grumble, "Mus!" and it is unanimous that the inadequate cards they’ve been given should be tossed in. If all players agree, the hands are scrapped and redealt with fresh starts and new opportunities for all.

The world could learn much from this game, a relieved player says.

Justo declines the offer to play, which is only a courtesy anyway. Of the numerous activities denied a man with one arm, Justo has found that forgoing mus is among the smaller sacrifices.

So they proceed with the tics and gestures used to signal their partners, acts that are not only allowed but encouraged. The creative Basques decided that cheating could be prevented by declaring it a legal part of the game. Accordingly, if one never recognizes the existence of a border, then carrying goods across it is not smuggling, merely nocturnal commerce. And if a race believes it has always lived in its own nation, then protecting its imaginary boundaries is a matter of patriotism, not separatism.

A wink of the right eye to a mus partner reveals a bit of information and a tongue-waggle supplies another, but when the tricks fall badly, one speculates that his partner uses his farm animals for unconventional recreation.

God, I wish I still had sheep—for that reason or any other, the partner answers, laughing off the insult.

Justo produces a one-note laugh and the sound surprises him.

Vagrant threads of humor arise at times. Some still try, at least. On the chalkboard taberna menu behind them, in small letters beneath the list of offerings and their prices, is a note highlighted only by a snowflake asterisk: IF YOU’RE DRINKING TO FORGET, PLEASE PAY IN ADVANCE.

Stay, Justo, please stay, one implores. I may need the services of Guernica’s strongest man to pull my foot from my partner’s ass. It’s another courtesy comment to Justo, whose renowned physical strength has not been publicly demonstrated for some time.

No merciful God would have put on His earth so many Fascists or such ignorant partners, one player says, his voice lowered. Justo scans the area to see if anyone takes offense at the statement.

He has not come to the market for cards or levity. Once the most visible of the town’s characters, he now passes odd hours adrift in the streets and alleys. He watches, overhears discussions of the news of the town, and disappears.

The amumak cluck, Of course he might be, you know, disturbed, like his father, considering everything . . .

Oh, yes, he might be, considering . . .

I think he is . . . yes . . . who wouldn’t be?

Justo has heard the whispers and is not bothered by being thought mad. It even might be a good thing these days. People ask fewer questions.

On a bench of land to the west, the symbolic oak of Guernica stands rigid and undisturbed. The residents tell and retell the stories of ancestors gathering beneath the oak tree since the Dark Ages to make laws or plan the defense of the land from invaders. Somehow, the rebels and Germans didn’t damage the tree, though little else escaped their influence.

Across the market, there are no displays of the red, white, and green Ikurriña because the flag is banned in public. There are no pelota games, as there used to be, because the fronton has not been rebuilt. There are no dances at the plaza in the evenings after market day because dancing the jota or aurresku in public could lead to arrest.

Justo doesn’t consider these realities anymore since they no longer apply to him. He’s beyond punishment. Conspicuous in his boasts and bluster for so many years, Justo mostly listens now. If the Guardia Civil officers are occupied elsewhere, the market is the best place to hear the language. Since Miguel left, Justo has only the company of a yearling ewe and a few suspicious chickens at home, and they offer such predictable conversation. In truth, they visit with him as much as Miguel had in the final weeks before he withdrew into the mountains in a search for . . . something.

So Justo comes to listen. The language always has been the most important act of separation anyway, as the bond is to the words more than to the land. Since nothing on maps reflects their existence, the extent of their country is the range of their language. But like the dances, the flag, and the celebrations, the words are banned, making a prayer whispered in Basque as illegal as a call to arms in the public square.

Justo’s brother Xabier, the academic priest, told him that the Basque race has gone unassimilated by invaders because of the isolation of their stony coast and encircling mountains. But Justo joked in return that they have survived by being incoherent to all others. It is a unique defense.

Even the sounds of the market have changed. The mus players throw their pasteboard cards to the table so hard and fast that it sounds like clapping, but then they pause to watch over their shoulders for the guards in their tricorner hats and green capes. And the amumak in their black shifts and scarves—rolling boulders of women—are unafraid of any man bearing arms or condemnations. But their nattering has a lower tone, as there are fewer to have to talk above.

The locals now shuffle between booths as an accordion player squeezes out a waltz from under a drooping canopy that muffles the notes, making it sound as if the music is coming from the distance, or from the past. Many move as if they’re wading through a heavy pointlessness—trying, like the amumak with the vegetables, to hold on to things that are no longer theirs. To laugh at cards and profit from business feels like an insult to those who can no longer laugh and profit. To them, the decay of will is an act of consideration. They buy what they must and return home.

According to the old Basques, everything that has a name exists. But Justo would argue that things now exist that are beyond description, which imagination cannot conceive: the explosions, the smell of things aflame, the sight of oxen and men mixed into gory minotaurs among the rubble. They existed yet are unspeakable.

At the market now, tinkers sell used copper pots with silver scars from solder repairs, and farmers cover their tables with patchy bouquets of bunched greens and small pyramids of potatoes. Alaia Aldecoa again sells her soaps that smell of the nearby meadows. Commerce, the pulse of normal existence, slowly and respectfully returns on these Mondays.

Justo Ansotegui extracts a scented coin from his pocket and buys two potatoes as an excuse to hear another voice. For a moment, he listens to the language, to the rhythm of the phrases and their melancholy inflections. But there are no words for the things they have seen.

PART 1

(1893–1933)

CHAPTER 1

Baby Xabier cried from his crib, and when Angeles didn’t stir, Pascual Ansotegui touched a match to the oil lamp on the wall and retrieved the newborn for his feeding.

"Kuttuna, it’s time," he whispered, careful not to disturb their sons sleeping in the next room. But within a moment, Pascual’s scream shook Justo and little Josepe from their beds. In the smoky lamplight, Pascual saw Angeles’s sheet-white face and a dark stain on the bedding.

Justo and Josepe scrambled into their parents’ room and found baby Xabier wailing on the floor. Justo picked up his little brother and returned him to the cradle. Josepe fought to pull himself onto the bed to be with his mother but only managed to claw the bloody blanket toward his face. Justo pulled him back and whispered to him. The three stood at the bedside as a corrosive grief began to hollow out Pascual Ansotegui.

Angeles had presented him a succession of three robust sons in a span of four years. Almost from the moment she recovered from the delivery of one, she was once again carrying the next. The men in the village laughed at Pascual’s appetites, and he took a dash of pride in their jokes. Good-natured, accommodating, and fertile as the estuarial plain on which they lived, Angeles birthed without complications. But a few days after the uneventful appearance of her third son, she simply failed to awaken. Pascual was left with two tots, a newborn, and a harness of guilt.

The boys grew together in a hyperactive litter, roiling and wrestling and challenging one another from predawn awakenings until their nightly collapse, often not in their beds but sprawled at odd angles wherever their energy randomly expired. The increasingly absent Pascual kept them fed, a minimal challenge on a thriving farm, but they otherwise operated on their own initiative and imagination. Four males now lived at Errotabarri, the Ansotegui family farm, with no maternal or feminine influence past the few reminders of Angeles Ansotegui’s brief life, a comb-and-brush set on her dresser, a few dresses in the closet, and a ruffled floral-print apron that Pascual Ansotegui now wore while cooking.

As Pascual withdrew, physically and emotionally, the boys gradually took over the farm. Even young boys understand that chickens need feed and eggs must be collected, so they completed these tasks without recognizing them as work. Even young boys understand that stock need food for the winter, so they learned to swing the scythe through the musky alfalfa grass and fork the hay high against the tall spindle that supported the stack.

When one of them came across a rotten egg, it became ammunition for an ambush of an unsuspecting brother. They dived together into the cut grass before collecting it. They hid in the haystacks before spreading it for the stock. They rode the cows bareback before they milked them. Piles of cordwood were forts before they became fuel for the hearth. Every chore was a contest: Who could throw the pitchfork farthest? Who could run fastest to the well? Who could carry the most water?

Because each action was a competition or game, there was rarely a division of labor; the three shared each job and moved in unison to the next. Virtual orphans, they were nonetheless content, and the farm operated in a surprisingly efficient atmosphere of playful mayhem. But at times even the instincts of farm boys could not lead them to anticipate threats to stock or crops. For three boys easily distracted by the ballistic possibilities of rancid eggs, surprises arose.

Had Pascual Ansotegui been conscious of the passing of the seasons, he would have reminded his sons that the ewes about to lamb in the spring needed the protection of the shed. But in the first warm afternoons of spring, the shed was merely a wall for young boys playing pelota. When Xabier clumsily sent the ball onto the roof and it wedged between cracked tiles, Justo retrieved the ladder and scaled the canted shed, placing one foot dramatically on the peak, as if he had reached the summit of Mount Oiz. Josepe sensed in his posture the potential for a new game.

How about you get to stay up there until one of us hits you with sheep shit? Josepe said, having retrieved several dried dung biscuits.

As he took aim at his brother, Josepe spotted a sliver of darkness banking tight circles above the hillside. Justo, Justo, an eagle—are there lambs out there? Josepe screamed.

Get the gun! Justo yelled, leaping down onto a bale and rolling off onto his feet.

Pascual Ansotegui’s rifle was old before the turn of the century and the boys had never seen it fired. At thirteen, Justo was as strong as some of the men in the village, but Pascual had never taught him how to shoot. Josepe could hardly heft the iron weapon off the pegs in the shed. He dragged it to his brother with both hands at the end of the barrel, the butt bouncing along the ground.

Justo took it from him, raised it to his shoulder, and waved the heavy barrel in the direction of the diving eagle. Xabier knelt in front of him and grabbed the stock with both hands, trying to buttress his big brother’s hold.

Shoot him, Justo! Josepe screamed. Shoot him!

With the rifle butt inches from his shoulder, Justo pulled the trigger. The shot exploded in the barrel, and the recoil thrust Justo to the ground, bleeding from the side of his head. Xabier flattened out beside him, screaming from the noise. The shot did not even startle the eagle, which was now applying a lethal clench of its talons into the neck of a tiny, still-wet lamb.

With Justo and Xabier down, Josepe charged. Before he could reach it, the eagle extended its wings, hammered them several times into the ground, and lifted off on a downhill swoop just over Josepe’s head.

Justo fought his way uphill to Josepe. Xabier, crying to the point of breathlessness, face freckled with his brother’s blood, ran in sprints and tumbles to a neighbor’s house for help.

Look for other newborns, and let’s get the ewes into the shed! Justo shouted, regaining control. They saw no other lambs that were vulnerable, and they both herded the oblivious mother ewe, still dragging birth tissue, into the shed.

The neighbors held Xabier to calm him. But what did he expect them to do? Where was his father, after all? Boys your age shouldn’t deal with these matters and certainly shouldn’t be shooting rifles; it’s a good thing none of our stock was harmed, they said. He couldn’t hear them over the painful ringing of his ears but read rejection in their faces.

Well . . . fine! Xabier yelled, breaking away to rejoin his brothers.

The shaken boys gathered in the shed and clutched the ewe, which was bothered not by the loss of its offspring, a development it had already forgotten, but by the fierce embraces of these boys, one of whom was bleeding all over her wool.

When Pascual Ansotegui returned that evening, the boys stood in a line at the door, in descending order of age, and Justo briefed his father on the events. Pascual nodded. Justo and Josepe accepted his minimal response. Xabier, though, flared with indignation.

Where were you? yelled Xabier, a spindle-thin nine-year-old in third-hand overalls stained with blood.

Pascual stared without comment.

Xabier repeated the question.

I was gone, the father said.

I know you were gone; you’re always gone, Xabier said. We’d get along just as well if you never came back.

Pascual tilted his head, as if this would bring his youngest into clearer focus. He then turned away, pulled the floral apron from its peg on the hearth, and began to make dinner.

Justo knew early that he, as the eldest, would someday assume sole control of Errotabarri, and his siblings understood that they would inevitably find work elsewhere. If inequitable to the younger children, the pattern assured survival of the baserri culture. Justo Ansotegui would claim his birthright and become the latest in the chain of stewards of the land that extended back to times when their ancestors painted animals onto walls in the nearby Santima-miñe caves.

Bequesting the farm to the eldest carried no guarantees. He who inherits the farm may never leave to discover other opportunities, to go to sea, perhaps, or to a city like Bilbao. But to run the baserri was to shepherd the family trust, Justo believed. Still, he expected a period of apprenticeship to learn. For another year or so after the lamb’s slaughter, Pascual Ansotegui unenthusiastically attended mass each morning, mouthing the responses. He returned to church to pray in silence again in the evening, wandering unseen in between. Eventually, he stopped attending mass, and one day he drifted off.

It took several days before Justo realized his father had gone missing. He alerted the neighbors, and small groups searched the hillsides. When no evidence of death or life surfaced, the boys assumed that he had been swallowed up by a crevice or a sinkhole, or that he just forgot to stop wandering.

Although the boys loved and missed their father, their affection for him was more out of habit than true sentiment. They noticed little difference in his absence: They still performed the same chores and played the same games. Justo was now in charge.

Here, this is yours now, Josepe said to Justo, handing him the ruffled apron.

"Eskerrik asko, Justo said, thanking his brother. He lifted the strap over his head and tied the worn sash behind his back in solemn ceremony. Wash up for dinner."

He had the family baserri to run. He was fifteen.

When they were very young, the boys learned the history of Guernica and of Errotabarri. They learned it from their father, before he drifted off, and from the people of the town who were proud of their heritage. From medieval times, Guernica was a crossroads of the old Roman Way and the Fish and Wine Route that wound through the hills inland from the sea. Intersecting them both was the pilgrims’ route to Santiago de Compostela. For centuries, representatives of the region met under the Guernica oak to shape laws that outlawed torture and unwarranted arrest and granted unprecedented privileges to women. Although aligned with the kingdom of Castile, they maintained their own legal system and demanded that the series of Castilian monarchs from the time of Ferdinand and Isabella come stand, in person, beneath the oak of Guernica and swear to protect the Basque laws. Because the economy of the region hadn’t evolved under the feudal system, the Basques owned their own land and were never divided into sovereigns and serfs, merely farmers, fishermen, and craftsmen, free and independent of any overlord.

A baserri in Biscaya often came to have a name, which sometimes served as a surname for those living there, as if the land and the home were the real ancestors. The home, after all, would outlive the inhabitants and maybe even the family name. They presumed that a well-structured building, like family relationships, genuine love, and one’s reputation, would be timeless if protected and properly maintained.

At the time Justo Ansotegui assumed control of Errotabarri, a thorny hedgerow outlined the lower perimeter of the farm, and a platoon of poplars flanked the northern, windward edge. Crops were cultivated on the southern side of the house, bordered by several rows of fruit trees. Pastureland spread above the home, rising to a patchy stand of burly oaks, cypress, and waxy blue-gray eucalyptus. The trees thinned out just beneath a granite outcrop that marked the upper border of the property.

The house resembled others near Guernica. It required the boys to annually whitewash the stucco sides above a stone-and-mortar base and to restain the oxblood wooden trim and shutters. Each stone-silled window accommodated planter boxes of geraniums, providing dashes of red across both levels and all aspects. Even as a young, single man, Justo sustained these floral touches that had been important to his mother.

As with many a baserri on a hillside, the house was wedged into the slope. The lower floor, with wide double doors on the downhill side, housed the stock in the winter months. The upper floor, with a ground-level door on the uphill side, was home to the family. The housing of cows and sheep in the same building protected the animals from the cold, and they returned the favor by warming the upper level with their rising body heat.

Inside, a large central room held the kitchen, dining, and living areas, with rough-cut oak columns supporting exposed quarter-sawn rafters. The hearth extended inward from a corner of the kitchen. Seed corn was nailed to the beams to dry, and herbs for cooking and medicine cured in the warmth above the hearth. Interwoven vines of red peppers hung from the support column closest to the kitchen, next to the dangling links of chorizo that lent a heavy garlic scent to the room.

An unknown ancestor had carved the lauburu into the lintel above the house’s main door. This four-headed symbol of their race, like a spinning clover leaf, bracketed their lives, appearing on everything from cradles to tombstones.

Each former master of the land inadvertently bequeathed items to Justo. He still stacked hay on tall wooden spikes that had been carved generations before. And the iron shears he used in the shed had snipped wool from sheep dead a century. Some of the smaller items offered wordless mysteries from the edge of the mantel; there was a small bronze horse with its head reared high and an iron coin bearing unknown symbols.

During Justo’s proprietorship, the apron was likewise memorialized, draped from a nail in the mantel. And before he would pass, the mantel also would support a length of braided human hair so dark that it absorbed light.

Swatting the rump of a reluctant donkey to keep it grinding up the steep trail, Pablo Picasso chuckled when he considered how his friends in Paris would react to the vision of him in such a position. That he would think of them now, here in the Pyrenees, was a symptom of the problem. There had been too much getting in the way of his art in Paris. And this mountain trail to Gósol, with the lovely Fernande on a donkey beside him, was his path away from all that.

It had been all too much talk of art. And when they talked, their art rose from their heads, not their guts, and their paintings went back and forth like day-old conversations.

He didn’t need Paris now; he needed Spain. He needed the people and the heat and the unshakeable feeling of belonging.

Fernande would sit for him now and wouldn’t talk about his painting. She knew better. He had come back to Spain for a short break, come to this quiet town in the mountains, to tear art to pieces, to make it something it hadn’t been, or perhaps something it had been long before. This was a place he could feel art. It came up at him from the dirt and radiated down in waves from the sun. It was time to shatter art and reshape it, as one might do with bright pieces of broken glass.

Justo promised his brothers this: No one would work harder. But even as he made that vow, he conceded to himself that he knew very little of the business of operating a farm. So he began making social visits to neighbors, slipping into the conversations questions about the timing of planting certain crops or tending fruit trees and managing stock. Most neighbors were sympathetic, but they had little time to worry about somebody else’s farm—unless they had a daughter who happened to be his age. Most would consider Justo something well short of handsome, but this boy nonetheless owned his own baserri.

Justo inquired of the neighboring Mendozabels how he might establish hives for bees that would pollinate his fruit trees and provide honey. Mrs. Mendozabel informed him that they would be delighted to help him, that in fact they should all visit over a full dinner, which you surely don’t get much of at Errotabarri, not the kind that our Magdalena makes every night. Justo arrived in his work clothes, consumed dinner without conversation beyond that of the baserri, and took little note of Magdalena in her white Sunday dress and the special pie she baked for him. He was too busy for Magdalena and all the rest of the Magdalenas who were successively dressed, powdered, and trotted out for his inspection. The dinners were pleasant, though, the information helpful, and yes, it was true, he didn’t bake pies at Errotabarri.

Small farms could not be considered flourishing businesses, but few noticed the poverty on the hillside above Guernica. Families were fed, and whatever was left over was carted to market or traded for those goods they could not produce themselves. Justo envied the neighbors who enjoyed an abundance of help from children. By comparison, he faced a manpower shortage. Josepe and Xabier helped, but they were less invested in the chores now. Justo rose in the darkness, worked without break through the day, and fell asleep shortly after eating whatever it was he bothered to toss into a pot that night. Josepe never complained of the food; Xabier did so only once.

Justo discovered a few tricks but never cut corners on chores that would affect the land or animals, only himself. He did not sew or mend clothing and never washed his or his brothers’ garments, he told them, because they would only get dirty again. If his brothers wanted to clean themselves, he did not complain, as long as the chores had been done.

You look nice this morning, one charitable woman commented to Justo when the three boys showed up to mass at least partially groomed.

Yes, Xabier cracked. But our scarecrows are bare today.

And so, Justo spent no time arranging for his own comforts, and he gave no thought to entertainment or diversion.

At times in the field, hypnotized by the rhythmic swinging of the scythe through the grasses, he discovered that he had been talking to himself aloud. He would look around to be certain Josepe or Xabier had not come upon him silently and heard his words. In these moments he realized his problem. He was lonely. The chores that had been so exciting in the presence of his brothers had become mere labor.

The only break he allowed himself came on feast days when he would finish his chores in the morning and then walk into town to take part in the competitions, the tug-of-war, the wood chopping, the stone lifting. He won many of them because of his imposing power. And because these exposures to people were so rare, he attempted to share with everyone all the jokes and examples of strength that went unappreciated during his seclusion at Errotabarri. If he became outrageous and self-inflated, it was entertainingly so, and those in the town anticipated his visits and cheered his many victories. For someone so lonely at home, the attention felt like the first warm day of spring.

At one of these outings he met a girl from Lumo who had come downhill to join the dancers. Her name was Mariangeles Oñati, and she caused Justo Ansotegui to reevaluate his approach to personal hygiene and self-imposed solitude.

Josepe Ansotegui smelled the Bay of Biscay long before he could see it. Having walked the serpentine mountain road north from Guernica for two days, past the caves and the jagged marble quarry and beyond the well-tended farms, he descended steadily in the direction of the breeze that carried the briny musk of low tide. When he arrived at the Lekeitio harbor in the softening dusk, clusters of women in aprons and scarves were prying small fish from nets along the quay. They chatted and sang in pleasant harmony.

Josepe scanned the boats moored along the perimeter of the harbor wall, looking for crews still at work. The first man he approached about a job responded with a laugh and a head shake. The second told him that fishermen came from fishing families, and farm boys were meant to be farmers, as was life’s order.

"My older brother took over the family baserri, so I thought I’d give fishing a try, he explained. I was told there was always work to be had on the boats."

I’ve got some work, a man on the adjacent boat shouted. Let’s see if you can lift this crate.

With great strain, Josepe hoisted an overflowing crate of fish to his knees, then up to his waist, and off-loaded it to the dock. He looked back with a sense of triumph.

Yes, you’re strong enough, the fisherman said. No, I don’t have any work for you—but thanks anyway.

In the aft of a boat closest to the harbor mouth, a fisherman stood alone scanning the sky. "Zori, the man said of his skyward focus when Josepe approached. The old fishermen looked for zori, for omens, by reading which way the birds were flying."

And are the birds saying anything special this evening? Josepe asked,

Reviews for Guernica

[brigidsmith · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The story of what happened in Guernica during WW2, and how this is reflected in the painting by Picasso. The book gave a great deal of background about Basque culture and psyche, and how the conflict came about. I also understood more about the painting when I had read the book.

[mcna217 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"Guernica", by first time novelist Dave Boling, tells the story of the town of Guernica before, during, and after it was bombed by the German Luftwaffe on April 26, 1937. It is also the story of the Basque residents, who remained strong and resilent even though hundreds of civilians were killed or displaced on this horrific day.Mr. Boling does a wonderful job weaving together historical accuracy with well written fiction. He is as equally adept at describing the love story between Miren and Miguel, as he is in describing the devastating aerial attack on this town. It is unusual to find an author, especially a first time novelist, who can write so effectively about both love and war.I would recommend this novel highly to anyone who wants to learn more about the Spanish Civil War, the Basque nation, or World War II. Additionally, I would encourage anyone who enjoys a good old fashioned love story to pick up this novel. I enjoyed this book immensely and will look forward to Mr. Boling's next offering.

[irenesm_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I´ve only added this to my list in order to say that Dave Boling´s use of the English language is quite the worst I´ve ever come across. Had I not been determined to finish the book because it's my Reading Group title this month, I would have put it down at about page 30. Here are some of his many execrable sentences. The decay of will is an act of consideration.That didn´t stop Justo from operatically scapegoating the livestock whenever he committed an indiscretion of the bowels.On cows – Had it been their nature to reflect and expand, there would have been the genesis moments of bovine religious movements.His feral brows hung over his eyes like a pair of awnings, and the moustache that hyphenated his face was prodigious in three dimensions.The bodies of several dozen people rose intact to varied elevations before sprouting like chrysanthemum blossoms.

[myckyee_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This novel centers on events in the Basque town of Guernica in the years leading up to WWII. The historical perspective is genuine and the characters absolutely wonderful – they resonate with authenticity. The author portrays the villagers in Guernica as people that I would liked to have known; people full of life, daring, innocence and brave. I did not know much about the history of the Spanish civil war and reading this book motivated me to find out a lot more. It was thought-provoking and fascinating to learn about events that happened so long ago yet are very important not to forget. The tragic events that engulfed Guernica are heartbreakingly vivid. The imagery and description of Picasso’s process of creating the painting Guernica is an interesting addition to the novel and someone I know who has seen the painting told me it is enormous and impressive. (She happily has borrowed the book).I am pleased I had the chance to read and review this book - I might not have found it otherwise. It is an uplifting, wonderful novel by a gifted writer.

[nicx27 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This wasn't a book that appealed to me initially, when Richard & Judy announced their last set of book club reads. But I changed my mind after looking at the book, as I thought it sounded like an interesting story of family and war, and looked reasonably easy to read. However, the first part was very slow, introducing a large cast of characters and skipping through their lives very quickly to cover a 30 year period in little depth. Eventually we got to the crux of the story, the bombing of Guernica, but by that time I cared little for the story or the characters, and what should have been a momentous event in the book seemed dulled somehow. By that stage I had started to skim read the story. The problem for me with this book is that the author doesn't inject a great deal of emotion into the story, and tries to give too much information and introduces too many characters in the first part of the book. It does end very well though, and I thought the ending was a nice touch.

[zibilee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Guernica is an epic story of love, destruction and survival set amid the Spanish Civil War. It is the story of two families and three generations intertwined by love, honor and duty. It is the story of Justo Ansotegui, the strongest and most virile man in the village of Guernica. Justo rises from a young hardscrabble existence raising his brothers after the disappearance of his father, becoming a ranch owner and father in his early teens. After a touching courtship and wedding to the beautiful Mariangeles, Justo becomes the father of the spirited and vivacious Miren. Rolling through the years, we are privy to the love and devotion of Justo's family towards each other and their community, including the life and sacrifices of Justo's younger brother, Xabier, a man of the cloth. Here also are the Navarro brothers, both fishermen, who will leave their home to become very different, yet equally honorable men. As Francisco Franco, with assistance from the Germans, begins his takeover of Guernica with the intent of abolishing the Basque people and culture, life in the town become fraught with scarcity, fear and rumors. Each of the people we come to meet must adapt to a life filled with hardships among the menacing influences taking over their town. When the unthinkable happens and the German Luftwaffe bombs the town, life is forever changed and the survivors of the brutal attack must learn to endure and rebuild, gaining strength and shedding their weaknesses with only the help of one another. Peppered within this tale we get a glimpse of the famous painter Picasso and his artistic reaction to the bombing of Guernica, as well as the haunting account of commanding officer Wolfram von Richthofen, one of the men directly responsible for the bombing. Mixing the fictional with the tangible, Guernica tells the tragic story of one of the most terrible events in history, taking the reader on a moving ride of loss and redemption.This book really started off with a bang. Reading the first section, I found myself curious at the plight of Justo, and wondering what led him to the place he inhabited in the opening of this story. I enjoyed the detail of the family interactions and the concise yet revealing way that the author wove so much of the history of the town and its inhabitants within the story.The many viewpoints and distinct characters made the plot very involving. Some of the best sections in the book were the reflections and reactions involving Xabier, the town's priest and Justo's brother. From his viewpoint I was able to really envision the carnage inflicted on that terrible day and see the heartrending atrocity that was inflicted upon those unfortunate townspeople. The drama of the aftermath wasn't harped upon or made morbid; instead it was explained with subtlety and a depth of feeling that made the characters and their reactions very plausible and human. Though I thought this was a tale well told, the stories told from the perspectives of Picasso and von Richthofen were a bit jarring and not well integrated. I believe that the author had something important to say with the inclusion of these passages, but the voice and message was somewhat dampened by the almost mechanical embedding of these elements. I think it is always hard to add real historical figures into a work that is primarily fiction and have them blend in seamlessly. In this case, I didn't feel that it was very successful. Adding to this, the lack of information regarding the politics of the bombing of Guernica left me with many unanswered questions, and it hampered my understanding of the event. I felt that a little more exposition on the causes and strategies of the war that precluded the bombing would have been helpful to understand the full impact of what happened in the town. For this reason, I felt that the sections regarding the family were more connecting and emotionally charged, while the other parts of the book were a bit less interesting to read.Although there were components of this story that didn't really work for me, overall I was very moved by this book and thought it was a success. The author mentions in an afterword that the politics had been deliberately left out in order to give the reader an idea of how this bombing would have appeared to the townspeople, who had no idea of why it happened. Looking at it in that framework, this becomes a story of a town and a story of individuals dealing with the unthinkable and the unexpected. As a reader though, I wanted more. I really wanted to understand why this happened and to see the play unfold behind the curtain. But ultimately, I did care for the characters and wonder in what direction in life they were heading, and how they would get there. I got so involved with them, that in the end, I could overlook the difficulties I had with the story, and value my time with them.

[novelbookworm_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

When I started reading Guernica by Dave Boling, I didn’t know much about the Basques. I knew where the Basques were located, I knew a wee little bit about Basque fishermen and had heard of Basque sheepherders, but for the most part, I was completely ignorant. Guernica is such an extraordinary novel. This book is part love story, part wartime novel with political intrigue and history brought to life. I was confused, when occasionally the author would seemingly arbitrarily insert a paragraph or two about Picasso, or von Richthofen also known as The Red Baron. Since I really didn’t know what the book was about, I read on, only slightly distracted by these odd lapses. I came to love the people of Guernica, their heart, their joy, their people. I was angered by the suppression they suffered under Franco’s totalitarian control. Then, the occasional mention of von Richthofen became understandable, as did Picasso’s. The attack on Guernica was heartbreaking to read about. The author did such a superb job of bringing these people to life, that it was like losing friends. I found myself wondering why my history teachers had never mentioned this atrocity. I headed off to my computer and googled like a mad woman. I’ve never before understood any of Picasso’s art, but when I looked at the mural he called Guernica, I could see what he was saying. Picasso’s mural is a powerful reminder of this terrible attack. Dave Boling’s wonderful book is a testament and tribute to all who died there and to all who lived and rebuilt their lives. Guernica is one of the best books I’ve read all year.

[sunnycouger-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book has actually taken me months to read - I started it, stopped, started, stopped until I finally made myself read on. It's a slow burner and the start of the book is hard to get into but once you are past that section it actually becomes pretty easy to read. The book is based in the Basque town of Guernica prior, during and after the horrifying attack that inspired the Picasso painting.

The book is effectively in 3 sections with a variety of characters all centred around the one family. It's a nice enough story - some parts of it work and some parts of it don't and the characterisation doesn't always work. I loved the central character of Miren and Miguel and their love story is probably the only reason I cared about the characters. Other characters were somewhat irrelevant and under-developed, such as Miren's best friend who grew up in a convent, was blind, made soaps and serviced the town as a prostitute before, bizarrely, despite being self-sufficient throughout becomes the character that 'needs looking after' contrary to what we'd seen before.

As a commentary about what happened, and the way the bombing is described, it definitely works well but at the same time I can't help but wonder if it would have been more involving if the cast list was smaller and without the random insets involving real life people where the author interrupted the flow of the story by giving us a paragraph or two from the real-life players involved. The 'twist' at the end wasn't necessary, and although I understand the need of providing a happily ever after, I can't help but wonder if it couldn't have been achieved in a less obvious way.

I will say, I found the scene where Miguel is trying to save his family and ends up damaging his hands to such a level where he has to have his fingers amputated was the one thing that really got me in the book. It wasn't overblown, it wasn't over-dramatic - it was just one man's desperate, blinkered desire to save his family and in that regard, it was something that did cause the reaction that I think the rest of the book lacked.

Worth a read, and definitely worth persevering with beyond the stodgy opening.

[jacquid-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book and found it easy to read given the subject matter. Don´t think it is dreary war book it really lifts your spirits and gives you a feeling of hope and optimism. The politics was there as an undercurrent directing the lives of the characters and not making the storyline tiresome. Reading this lazing in a sun lounger you can feel the heat, smell the garlic and just transport yourself to the Mediterranean. Wonderfully worked with well know characters from history worked into the fabric of the story. Great starter book and has whetted my appetitive to learn more about the Spanish Civil War.

[gcplreader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Boling's first novel is the historical recreation of the attack on Guernica in the Basque region of Spain. The novel develops at a slow, pleasant pace as we are introduced to the Ansotegui family. The women are beautiful, the men are strong. My only complaint is that Boling is overbearingly sentimental in exhorting the reader to care about these people before the tragedy of the German bombings devastates their lives. My favorite parts were of Picasso's commission to paint the famous mural as a remembrance of the terrible atrocities. "One officer who considered himself culturally advanced approached the artist as he sipped his coffee at a table beneath the green sidewalk awning. The officer held a reproduction of the mural Guernica, barely larger than postcard size. "Pardon me," he said, holding the card out. "you did this, didn't you?" Picasso put his cup delicately onto its saucer, turned to the picture and then to the officer, and responded, "No, You did."

[jo3jo_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was full of historical information that the people of Guernica experienced during the time of the Spanish Civil War. The outcome of this war helped the Gestapo earn an advantage over the Spanish countryside, which gave the Nazi regime more power to accomplish their tasks during WWII. There were many interesting characters in this novel, including a couple names that you might remember like Picasso and the Red Baron.The book opens in the village of Guernica, which gives you a good taste of the traditions of the Basque culture. Justo is one of the main characters in the novel and lives on a farm with his parents and younger brothers. Before too long Justo finds himself in a parental position on the farm, having to manage the farm and take care of his younger brothers. Since Justo has been working so hard on the farm since a young age, he becomes quite muscular as a young man is known as the strongest man in town.One of my favorite parts of this novel was when Justo becomes enamored with Mariangeles. You knew it just had to be love for her to still fall in love with this man, considering how he must have looked most of the time. Since Justo spent most of his time working on the farm he really didn't put much consideration into his appearance. The two eventually marry and have one daughter whom they name Miren. Since his brothers have grown up and moved on with their lives, they reside on the farm and raise their daughter together. Miren grows into a very confident young lady and seems to me to be the light of the town. Whenever there is a party or a dance, Miren seems to be the star and everyone wants to be around her. Not only does her beauty and her air of excitement jump off the page, but also her compassion. When she was just a young girl she happened to be in the convent one day and noticed a young orphaned girl that lived there and was being raised by the nuns. At that time she took young Alaia under her wing and befriended her and their friendship grew into a sisterly love.So much happens within this story that tells you what life was like both before and during the war. You can feel the tension building up as you are reading, because you know the bombing of Guernica is coming. And the result of this bombing was devastating to all that were present. Boling gave me such an intense visual of what it must have been like for these people that I had tears in my eyes at one point. Getting the opportunity see a peice of the characters lives and then to experience the horror of the attack was heart-wrenching.After the bombing of Guernica we get a glimpse of what it was like for the citizens to go on with their lives, some with and others without their loved ones. Life changes drastically as they find themselves having to ration food moreso than they already have and occurences with the Gestapo seem to become routine. Citizens try to hide their livestock and if they happen to butcher an animal they can only hope that the Gestapo does not learn of it or they may come and confiscate all of the meat that is so greatly needed. This one event was the inspiration for Picasso's famous work of art titled Guernica. I think I have seen pictures of this painting but really did not look into the story or significance behind this work of art. I found myself enjoying this story more than I thought I would, as I stayed up later than usual a couple of evenings just to get a little extra reading in. To help you have a better understanding of the book, Boling includes a map of the territory and also a pronunciation guide. From the pronunciation guide I found the proper way to pronounce Guernica is as follows: gare-KNEE-ka. I was pronouncing it totally wrong before I looked at this. This book was about love, traditions, war, recovery and many other things that become evident as you are reading. I loved how this story brought us into the lives of a family that found a way to reach into their inner depths to go on with their lives after encountering such a tramatic event. I have no hesitation with recommending this book. I feel that I should warn you that the bombing segment was very intense in emotional and some readers may find that part a bit too much. There is also a reading group guide included so I think book clubs would have very interesting discussions.

[morgaine0000 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Guernica follows the lives of two Basque families and their neighbors before, during and after the bombing of Guernica by the German Luftwaffe during the Spanish Civil War. Picasso also plays a small part with his famous "Guernica" painting, covering the horror of the bombing. The story starts out a bit slow and sometimes it seems a bit scattered as it moves around from character to character. In my opinion, it would have been a tighter story if the author had focused on fewer characters. Some characters, such as Justo, the patriarch of the story, are more interesting than others. The author really makes the location and time come alive. Highly recommended for people interested in Basque culture and history or the Spanish Civil War. Others may find it a bit slow.

[silverheron_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

GUERNICA by Dave BolingBloomsbury, PublisherISBN: 978-1-59691-563-3One of the things that I love about books is their ability to change my perception of the world. This book is no exception to the rule. I will forever be changed because of the journey through its pages. The writing took me to this place in spirit. The book starts out with a view of the town “Guernica” shortly after a terrible event has occurred. You see the broken remains of many of the people but mostly the pain and sorrow of Justo (WHO-stow) who is the character that much of the book’s story revolves around if at times only remotely. Now that the book has set up the future it returns to the past to give you a much better picture of the people of the village of Guernica and the Ansotegui family. Justo is the strong man of the town and also oldest of three brothers who has to care for them and the family’s farm. Becoming the “father figure” at such a young age in many ways made him the boy that never quite grew up having to bypass his boyhood to become a man to young. As the story progresses you see the story of his family and the joy that is what being Basque is all about. If there is a culture that can find an excuse to be happy any time and anywhere it is the Basques.The book takes a fictional family and places it during a very real, very deadly, and horrific act that was perpetuated against them in the name of the Spanish Civil War. The bombing of this town was done by Nazi planes using it mainly as a training mission of young flyers to prepare for the impending WWII. The town had more bombs dropped on it in one afternoon than were dropped during the entirety of WWI.This bombing is one portion of what this book is about. Unfortunately history books often only tell us the statistics of war. This book beautifully tells you about the people of war, especially a very proud people who refused to be victims of war. I fell in love with all of the characters in the book. They were not perfect people, they had troubles, and they had flaws. But they did their best to overcome and maintain who they were as people and as a culture.To be honest I could not read any other books for awhile after I read this one. I just did not want to let go of the characters. I even went out and got some books on Basque cooking and made a Basque meal for my birthday. The Basque people like to celebrate and if you would like to read about the celebration of life even under the shadow of adversity you will love this book.

[reader247_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Guernica is the story about a small Basque fishing village called of course, Guernica. The people there are hard-working and do what they can to make a living and be what they can be. As you get to know the families they become dear to you and then the bombing changes everything. The story is one of human endurance and strength but also one of enduring love. I was pulled into the story and so saddened by it all. I commend this author for taking this bit of history on. I look forward to more by this author. And I want to see Picasso's painting too of course! (for real that is!)

[mrslee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I had not heard of Guernica; either the painting, the town or the history, before I received this book. When I looked it up, I was afraid I was in for a very "down" read. I was pleasantly surprised then, when the book didn't end at the disaster, but moved the characters on. Just like in life, they were changed, but still moving on.The author has a gift for writing real and lovable characters. I was so enchanted with the way he told this story. When he describes lovemaking, he doesn't go into needless and titillating details, but lets you feel the heart of things. Also, with the horror and violence, by not describing in exhaustive detail, he allows you to find your own emotions rather than feeling you are being manipulated. I truly enjoyed this book, which seems a very odd thing to say about a book on this subject. I knew nothing about this section of history, and now I feel that I've been there. Hopefully, Dave Boling has more stories within him to tell, because I would be happy to enter into another world of his creation.

[docwood-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Guernica, Dave Boling’s first novel, is, as you might expect, about Guernica. From the outset, there is the faintest whiff of condescension toward Basques, as Boling’s language is inevitably simpler when writing their scenes as compared to those of other cultures. Maybe he is trying to give a sense of the language, but it comes across as condescension. Speaking of scenes, there aren’t many, in the traditional sense of the word. The prose is unfortunately journalistic—what you get is paragraphs, sometimes several pages (even whole chapters!) of reportage in which Boling’s voice is intrusively omnipresent. Characters do not have conversations; rather, Boling tells us something they said one time. He offers opinions and commentary in the narrative. As a result, the reader has no sense of engagement with the characters and the events of their lives in the here and now, no experience of plot and subplot unfolding through events, but reads with a sense of distance, of time long past and over with. As a result, what Boling has produced here is less a novel than a novel-length human interest article into which the reporter, à la Janet Cooke, has inserted some subjects of his own invention. On the other hand, Boling’s sense of place is phenomenal—he manages to weave in a great deal about the town and the culture without the reader feeling like she is attending a seminar on the Basque. Here is where Boling’s writing really shines: From reading his descriptions of the town, one feels like an old citizen who could slip back into the relationships and routines of Guernica as if one had never left. Bottom line, though, I couldn't finish it. I realize I'm in the minority here, but there you are.

[ilurvebooks_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Great book will keep you hooked till the end

[ma_washigeri · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Nice book, but everyone in the book was just too nice to ring true. More than half of the book is spent wallowing in a perfect small group of families in an idealised small-town community. When the bombs arrived I wanted to scream 'nasty two-timing horrid people don't deserve to get torn apart either'. Well written, and well meaning. I think the first half was probably set up to provide contrast with war and make it more shocking when it came, but for me the first half made me want to get the second half over quick - having wallowed in sentiment I didn't want to wallow in blood and pain. Perhaps a book for those who do not yet know anything much about the Spanish Civil war.

[gbower_5 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a great read! Once begun, it was difficult to put the book down as I grew to love these wonderful Basque families. The author was able to make their lives, loves and traditions very real for me. Each event seemed so well foreshadowed, I anticipated what was about to happen sometimes with joy (the couples meeting and marrying, recovering Catalina) and sometimes with great dread(the bombing). I found the transitions from the story to Picasso and von Richthofen added much to the historical background. I plan to read more about the Basque people, Picasso's mural and Franco's era.I look forward to another historical novel by Dave Boling

[posthumose · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Guernica is a wonderful story, beautifully written. The history alone is fascinating, and told from the perspective of a tough but loving and loyal Basque family in the Spain of the 1930s, it becomes entirely alive to us.Justo Ansotegui and his two brothers grow up without the benefit of parents. One brother becomes a priest, Justo's daughter Miren marries Miguel Navarro, a woodworker. They are a strong family who together experience the squeeze of food shortages, arrests and disappearances of dissenters, threats of war. They stick together through it all. Then tragedy strikes. Considerable research has gone into the telling of this story. Many of the figures of the time are real: General Franco, President Aguirre, Wolfram von Richtofen, brother of the famous Red Baron. The latter is the one who organized the bombing of the Basque village, which had no military targets. It was a Nazi experiment that remains a shocking example of innocent civilians attacked for the sake of testing strategy. The world was horrified. The author deliberately "tried not to tax the reader with elaborations on the complex and volatile politics at the time-especially the strange and sometimes shifting alliances, parties, and labels-but rather to establish a general context of the poverty, oppression, instability, and disenfranchisement that common citizens would have felt." It is the personal story that interests us. How the Basque culture and language was outlawed in Spain. How they fiercely and loyally resisted attacks from all factions, smuggling those trying to escape from the Nazi's across the mountains out of France, or helping downed Allied pilots escape and get home again.The shipping of the Basque children to England is true and tenderly told. There is heartbreak in this story but there is so much love, and hope too, even after the worst kinds of suffering.Guernica is a story that needs to be told. Five stars, highly recommended. You owe it to yourself to read it.

[jolson724 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very interesting insight into Guernica and the tragedy they're known for. The dialogue and general writing style made this an easy read and the story remained complex and kept me very engaged as I followed the lives of his well developed group of characters. I do wish there had been more of a focus on the Spanish War and the historical aspects of that time period, but I enjoyed getting to know the characters and learning about the Basque traditions.

[infjsarah · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thought this sounded an interesting story and I was looking forward to reading it. But it fell short for me. It is an interesting story but there were too many characters and I didn't feel any connection to them. So when the attack happens I didn't feel the emotional connection that I should have. The Spanish Civil War and its atrocities have been overshadowed by WW2 so we all know less than we should about it and if fiction can help then that is all to the good. I felt there was a good story here but this novel wasn't it.

[grimbo_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Not being one of my usual kind of reads, this novel was an absolute pleasure to read. The setting is beautifully laid out and the characters are deep and developed, giving one a sense of familiarity as each new chapter unfolds.

[bibliophile_pgh · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is definitely one of my favorite books that I have read recently. The story is about the country of Basque during World War II. He gave a great story of the country's history, culture and resilience.

[jgoto_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Dave Boling’s Guernica is historical fiction set primarily in the Basque region of Northern Spain in the 1930s. Vivid descriptions of life during the Spanish Civil War and the devastating bombing of the city of Guernica by the Germans are interwoven with the strong characters Boling creates: Justo, the proud man who takes over his father’s farm in his teens and provides for his younger brothers, Miren, Justo’s beautiful daughter, with her boundless energy, Alaia, the blind woman who makes her way in the world as best she can, Miguel, Justo’s son-in-law, who risks his life to forget his own sorrow. The characters are carefully drawn and arouse the empathy of the reader. Historical figures also appear in the book. Most notably, we see Pablo Picasso, who is so moved by the tragic bombing of the town of Guernica, that he is able to create one of his greatest masterpieces. Guernica is a novel of epic proportions. Boling skillfully portrays the lives, passions and losses of three generations of Basque men and women. It is a very good debut novel and I look forward to future works by this author.

[writestuff_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

On July 17, 1936, the Spanish Civil War broke out in Morrocco. The country was quickly divided between the Republicans (or Loyalists) and the Nationalists under the leadership of General Francisco Franco (and backed by Mussolini’s Italy and Nazi Germany). Caught in the middle was the Basque Government - an autonomous authority which sought to defend the Basque region (Biscay) with its own army. The historic town of Guernica represented a strategic point for the Republicans as it stood between the Franco and the capture of Bilboa in the north of Spain. On April 26, 1937 Nationalist forces, along with German and Italian aircraft bombed Guernica - dumping nearly 40 tons of bombs on a town with approximately 5000 people and exacting a high casualty rate of between 250 - 1600 citizens (estimates vary greatly). The attack so inspired the famed painter Pablo Picasso that he began painting his now famous mural of Guernica only 15 days after the attack.Dave Boling’s debut novel Guernica is a family saga and love story which wraps itself around this historic event. The novel begins in 1893 with brothers Justo, Josepe and Xabier Ansotegui growing up together on a sheep farm in Guernica. When their mother dies shortly after giving birth to Xabier, and their father emotionally abandons them (before simply disappearing one day), the boys are left to raise themselves. Justo - the eldest brother - takes over the farm. A strong man with an even stronger ego, he thrives in his role as patriarch. Josepe eventually becomes a fisherman on the coast of Spain, while Xabier finds his empathetic talents fit perfectly in the priesthood. Later Justo marries a local Basque girl which results in the birth of a daughter - Miren.Miguel Navarro, a young man who flees from his fishing village to avoid arrest by the Spanish Civil Guard, finds himself in Guernica one day in 1935 head over heels in love with the dark haired Miren - a girl who has become the joy of her village with her laughter and ability to dance like no other. The reader also meets Alaia, a blind girl whom Miren befriends.Guernica is an epic story which spans a period of nearly 50 years, and so the reader is allowed to watch the characters grow from youth into adulthood. Throughout the novel, Boling connects his characters through the tendrils of history and place, and crafts their relationships as would an artist - with care and attention to detail.Boling slowly builds his novel to its crescendo - the air attack on Guernica - and does not spare his reader the horror of war. Tender and tragic, Guernica is a novel which reveals history through its impact on the people who lived it.I was completely absorbed by this brilliantly written story of a vibrant people caught in the middle of war. Highly recommended.

[caitemaire · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

If you know the history of the Picasso painting that shares the name with this book and are aware that it was created to depict the German bombing of the Basque city of Guernica, Spain on April 26, 1937, the climatic event that occurs in the middle of this novel will come as no surprise. The rise of the fascists and the Spanish Civil War and the beginning of World War II is always present in the background of this story. People start to disappear, rumors of terrible happenings in other towns are talked about, neighbors begin to turn on neighbors as times become harder and food is almost impossible to find.But if that all sounds a little break, don't fear. Because while these things are a part of first time novelist Dave Boling's story "Guernica", this is most certainly not a bleak story. No, this is a love story, from start to finish. At times, a funny, moving and uplifting love story, at times heartbreaking. The love of parents and their children, the love of siblings, the love of spouses, the love of friendship...the love of ones people and ones homeland. Ultimately, a hopeful and promising love story.At the center of the tale is Justo Ansotegui, the oldest of three siblings, whose mother dies shortly after the birth of his youngest brother. When his father, unable to deal with her death, gradually abandons the boys and the farm they live on, young Justo rise to the occasion to care for them all. He grows to be the strongest man in the region, respected by all and, in time, feared by a few. One brother becomes a fisherman, the other a priest and Justo meets and falls in love and marries the beautiful Mariangeles. They have a daughter, Miren, who is renown for her loveliness and kindness and skill at the traditional Basque dances. When she in turns marries the woodworker Miguel and has a daughter, they form the three generations of the Ansotegui family that will face the horrible events of that April day and it's aftermath. Happily, we have the very strong Justo to hang on to as we are dragged through this turbulant epic and benefit from what he discovers about family and home and love."Justo learned from Miguel that if you lose someone you love, you need to redistribute your feelings rather than surrender them. You give them to whoever is left, and the rest you turn toward something that will keep you moving forward."Justo, his family and the Basque people moved forward from that savage and atrocious time and we are privileged to accompany them on a part of the journey.

[sennebec · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was a satisfying read, but not a book I would put on my 'I want to read this again in a year' list.

[lollypop917 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Guernica is a riveting story that details the lives of the Ansotegui and Navarro families before, during, and after the bombing by the German Luftwaffe. After the death of his mother, Justo Ansotegui's father recedes with grief and eventually disappears leaving his eldest son in charge. He takes on the responsibility of care for his two younger brothers along with the family property Erottabari with no one to guide him. The brothers are creative in their management of the farm using games and pranks to make the most mundane chores fun. This is the setting in which the story begins, in the heart of the Pays Basque region of Spain. I really loved following Justo's story and found myself in tears a couple of times. I knew next to nothing of the Basque people and their traditions prior to reading this, let alone the climate of the country surrounding the bombing. I found myself looking online for more details about events and will probably look for more books in the future about the Basque people. I received this book through the LTER program and loved every bit of it.

[lynnb_64 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Guernica is a historical novel, based on the bombing of the Basque capital of Guennica during the Spanish Civil War. Ever since reading Mark Kurlansky's non-fiction Basque History of the World, I have become increasingly interested in this part of the world.Dave Boling has written a story of the Ansotegui and Navarro families, following them from childhood through adulthood, jobs, marriages and the fateful carpet bombing of their capital city.I read well over 100 books a year about a wide range of subjects, both fiction and nonfiction. And this one brought tears to my eyes more than once. Yet, the characters are a bit too perfect. Sometimes I felt like I was watching a Disney movie. So, why did this book draw me in and make me care so much about these people? It was Mr. Boling's writing style. His characters and their feelings are revealed, not explained. Reading this story was like getting to know people over time. Absolutely wonderful writing. I hope Mr. Boling writes another book soon.